


What He Deserves (And More)

by QueenUndertheBloodyMountain



Series: His Just Desserts [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angry Reader, Bit of Fluff, BotFA spoilers - Freeform, Canon Divergence, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Reader Insert, Spoilers (kind of), Wounded Fíli and Kíli (mentioned), Wounded Thorin, You're going to throttle him, small amount of cussing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-15 12:41:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2229342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenUndertheBloodyMountain/pseuds/QueenUndertheBloodyMountain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You are furious with your injured husband but are prepared to patiently wait to punish him for his actions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What He Deserves (And More)

**Author's Note:**

> I felt that the last story ([Stupid, Ridiculous Dwarf](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2217945)) was a bit too tame, so I wanted to write a slightly alternate version. No beta, I don't own any characters besides the elf (technicalities), and I hope you enjoy!

“Where is that stupid bastard?!” you yelled, throwing the doors of the healing ward open and storming in, still a bloody mess from the battle.

“Please madam I beg you, he is still sleeping! We have just barely been able to stabilize him and he needs to rest!”

“He can rest when he’s dead because I am going to finish what he started! Then you all can bring his foolish arse back so I can do it again,” you growled, spinning around, grabbing the elf by the front of his tunic and dragging him down to your level, “I was the one who dragged his half dead carcass out of that nightmare, now I need to scream at him for his stupidity. Where _is_ he?”

Clearly terrified for himself—few wouldn’t be if they were clutched in your furious grip—he hastened to reply; “In the royal wing, a room was prepared while he was in surgery; he, and his heirs, are expected to make a full recovery,” the elf stuttered. 

“Good,” you spat, “keep vital information concerning my husband and my family from me again, and I’ll have your head on a pike to decorate our front gates,” you snarled; pushing him away from you, you shouldered past him, headed towards the royal wing of the mountain. You stomped towards his rooms, your fury ready to boil over as you got closer.

Dwalin was outside the door, speaking to his brother when he saw you, face visibly paling as you approached. His sudden silence alerted his brother to company and Balin turned to greet you but stumbled on his own words instead.

“My Lady, are you injured?! You must see a healer!”

“It is not mine, now please move, our _King_ is about to get the chewing out of a lifetime,” you snapped, pushing the heavy doors open, Dwalin and Balin following close behind.

“Lass ye’re covered in orc and goblin filth, not only blood; ye need ta bathe!”

“What I _need_ is to curse the day my husband was conceived to my husband, so he will know how close to death he is by his own wife’s hands! I am going to throttle that fool; that idiotic dwarf will wish he had died on the battlefield when I finish with him!”

You threw the chamber doors open and faltered, staring at your sleeping husband; Óin had obviously given him a sleeping draught, not even _he_ should have been able to sleep through the racket you caused.

Dwalin laid a comforting hand on your shoulder, the fight draining out of you as you took in Thorin’s pale and near lifeless form, the dark sheets draining his pallor even more and making it appear as if he were actually made of marble instead of flesh.

“Come on Lass, the bathing room is this way,” Dwalin said, guiding you to the chamber adjacent to the huge fireplace set into the far wall near Thorin’s bed. “We’ll have a change of clothes and things sent up fer ya so ye can stay with him, he’ll need ya sumthin fierce now.”

“I wasn’t there when he needed me most,” you whispered. 

“Nay, ye were, and that’s why he’s here with us today, him and the boys. Now get cleaned up, you can beat him senseless when he’s a bit better.

You pulled from his light grip and walked over to Thorin and pressed a light kiss upon his brow, stroking the loose hair behind his ear before turning back and walking into the bathing room to try and scrub away the last few days’ horrors.

An hour later you were scoured nearly raw and wearing a fresh tunic and pants, hair towel dried and braided back from your face in a loose plait down your back. You quietly crept back into the bedchamber and pulled back the covers to crawl in next to your husband, the bed was more than large enough, being able to hold at least 5 grown men, you had no fear of jostling or bothering the still healing dwarrow. His color was slightly better, though his slightly flushed cheeks worried you, you prayed to Mahal that he was not developing an infection or any blood poisoning from his wounds; filthy and rusted orc and goblin blades were often festering with disease, or worse, poisons.

You pulled the comforter over Thorin to rest under his chin and kissed his cheek carefully before burrowing down onto your own side of the bed; the adrenaline of the day had worn off, exhaustion finally setting into what seemed like your very bones, willing your body to sleep.

As you began to drift you murmured a hushed promise to your beloved husband; “I’ll slap you when you’re better, Mahal knows you deserve that and more for scaring me so, Thorin Oakenshield.”

**~FIN~**


End file.
